


ninety-percent stardust, ten-percent demon

by deciphered



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, BillDip, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Human Bill Cipher, M/M, Older Dipper Pines, Slow Build, Triangle Bill Cipher, background macifica, billdip caught up in some sort of messy adventure, i can't believe i'm so devoted to these two idiots, i can't keep track, this is all just a mess of billdip, this is gonna be the longest fic i've ever written, will add more tags eventually maybe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-10-19 23:45:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10650576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deciphered/pseuds/deciphered
Summary: "Pine Tree, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were made up of ninety percent stardust.""What's the other ten percent, then?""Demon, obviously."~~~In which Dipper wakes up with a parasite, a problem, and a lesson that some secrets are best left unkept--in other words, hownotto kill a demon five years prior to the verge of a town's second apocalyptic breakdown.This time, surprisingly, it's notentirelyBill's doing.





	1. this must be my dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo its me again fuckers,, this is gonna be a long ass fic, i may not finish, i really hope i do cos ive got tons planned, ive written 2000 words for the plot summary alone and i'm not ready to give that up
> 
> anywaYS
> 
> as long as the 1975 have enough songs for chapter titles that's gonna be what they are for this Whole Story tm yup its me back again with that hipster band trash
> 
> (jk there's no 'again' because i've never really done that on this acc yet now have i)
> 
> (spoiler alert i like the 1975)
> 
> (spoiler alert number two this is a billdip fic)
> 
> (i hope we can be friends on this long long journey yup stick around for the ride)
> 
> (enjoy)

A buzzing, a humming, a pulse, a flickering candle warmth and an eye opens, flickering around in blue-grey static. _Light._

Slowly, slowly, grasp of a form, of thoughts, of life, familiar surroundings. A grey house, a shack that’s falling apart at the seams, and he makes his way in, melting through the doorway and into an attic room that’s washed out in white moonlight. Glowing eyes stare at him from blackened, blurred posters peeling off walls.

There’s someone in the bed and a formless hand reaches out to uncover the person, but the second the two separate energies collide, there’s hot-red-white heat, burning that could rival the sun, and he’s sucked in, in, in, before either of them can realise what’s happening.

⨻

Dipper wakes up with a jolt, sweat glistening on his forehead and a burning sensation in his head--which, actually, feels like it’s about to burst at any second. 

He pats himself and his covers down with clammy hands and takes a deep, shaky breath when everything is in colour and there are no eyes looking at him from the walls. Stale air, splintering bed frame, intact limbs--it’s all there, and Dipper furrows his brows, rubbing eyes eyes once, twice, and sits up.

He sets his feet on the frigid ground and stands, albeit unsteadily. The floorboards creak like always, dim surroundings cast in moonlight. The wallpaper is peeling off the wall from the top left corner of the wall opposite to the one his bed is pushed up against, there’s a worn textbook opened up on the desk with crumpled post-it notes scattered haphazardly over the surrounding floor, one of the drawers in his dresser is missing, and the strip of photobooth pictures is tacked on the wood in its place.

Everything is normal. Everything is Dipper’s.

He releases a breath he didn’t realise he’d been containing and walks over to the bathroom, locking the door behind him before flicking the lights on, squinting at his reflection in the mirror and running his fingers through his hair. They come out slightly greasy from oil build-up and sweat and he grimaces, turning the tap on to run his hands under cold water. 

He looks up, blinking blearily, and suddenly, there’s a effervescent yellow triangle staring smugly at him from the towel rack behind him.

Dipper screams.

“Quiet, quiet, kid, no one’s going to hear you,” Bill says with a snort, floating off of the towel rack and snapping his fingers. Dipper’s screams are muffled, lips sealed, and Dipper stares incredulously at the demon with wide eyes.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Bill drones, flicking Dipper’s nose malevolently and leaning back onto a cane Dipper didn’t notice him summoning. “You’re in your mindscape now! Funny place, isn’t it? I would know.”

Dipper stares at him incredulously, 

Bill responds with a flat look. “Yes, that was rude, wasn’t it? Well, you can’t kill a being of energy, you can only destroy its form. So, I came back.” Bill twirls his cane around his finger lazily, looking grim. “I just didn’t expect this.”

“What do you mean by that? Dipper finally snaps contemptuously, his words laced with obvious fear. “How did you come back?”

“Let’s have a chat, shall we, Pine Tree?” A snap of his fingers, and Dipper is sitting in a plush couch with a cup of tea floating before his eyes. Bill mirrors him, sipping his own--weird, mindscape tea. With his eye. Dipper looks at him in mild disgust and perplexment. “You can’t create or destroy energy. Correct?”

Dipper crosses his arms defiantly, his tea untouched. He doesn’t answer.

“You know the answer, don’t you, Pine Tree? Of course you can’t destroy me, I’m pure, chaotic dream energy, a kind of which your dimension can’t even touch or begin to understand! What I mean is, of course I didn’t die! I was simply sent back to my own dimension.” Bill pauses, an entertained tone replacing his uninterested one; “Or, at least, your great uncle tried to.”

“And... what does that mean?”

“It means, I was able to acquire an… anchor, you could call it. It grounds me to this dimension in the form of a bond to someone’s soul, for as long as it still exists on this plane.” Bill throws his tea cup off to the side disdainfully, but a crash never comes. “It was you, for whatever reason!”

Dipper’s eyes widen and he shoves Bill’s tea off to the side. Bill half-heartedly regards this with a dull glance and crosses his arms while Dipper struggles to make sense of the situation, on the verge of hysterics. “What?”

“Yeah, you and me, together forever, kid!” Bill quips with artificial cheeriness, displeased with the situation but blatantly amused with Dipper’s reaction.

Dipper inhales, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “So that means--that means what, exactly? How does that work? Why me?”

Bill rolls his eye. “This is just as much of an inconvenience for you as it is for me. For one, you’re slightly more difficult to manipulate than most meat sacks, surprising as it is--”

“Excuse me?”

“--And you’re pretty damn weak, no offense, kid. That makes you pretty useless to me.” Bill examines his nails (does Bill have nails? Dipper takes a short second to consider this, but shoves the issue aside to focus on the more demanding measures at hand).

Dipper pinches the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut exasperatedly. This is a dream, this is a dream--only, it’s not a dream, and Bill is still looking expectantly at him when he opens his eyes again. “Bill,” he mutters. “Tell me what you want from me.”

Bill laughs sharply, sending the chairs away with another snap. “Nothing, really. Anything you can do, I can do too. Of course, there’s also the option of taking my side and helping me get it done faster by getting my physical form back and maybe I can spare you in the second apocalypse--”

“ _NO._ ”

“Feisty! I like it!” Bill cackles at this, to Dipper’s irritation.

Dipper ignores him. “No way. Never in a million years.”

“I’ve lived for trillions, Pine Tree,” he drawls.

“Never in all of eternity.” Dipper lifts his hands to drag them through his hair tensely, squeezing his eyes shut in hopes of it all going away. “Listen, Bill, just get the fuck out of my head. I don’t care how you do it. Just get out.”

Bill looks a bit tired--just for a split second--Dipper blinks and it’s gone. “Fine, fine, I’ll do my research.” A disfigured gold Macbook appears at his side, monitor blinking aggravatedly between an image of a pyramid and static. “The offer for a truce still stands, though. See ya, kid!”

Dipper wakes up for the second time that night in a cold sweat and a haze of panic.

He takes a shower, and by the time morning comes again, he’s woken up by an alarm he’s convinced is starting to sound like Bill’s mocking laugh, astonishingly dark shadows under his eyes, and an odd stinging sensation in his chest.

“It was definitely a dream,” Dipper whispers hoarsely at his reflection in the closet door mirror, wrinkled red flannel and a peculiarly-stained pair of inky black jeans his chosen look for the second-last day of his final high school summer vacation.

And then he closes the door, repeating those five words in his head like a mantra.

⨻

_“I don’t want to be tied down to one person forever, Dipper! I want the complete high school experience! It works out just fine, you see; you get an entire house all to yourself, I get to room with a friend the year before I graduate and we all go separate ways. It’ll be fine. I’m not going anywhere.”_

Those were Mabel’s last words. Before she slammed the door in Dipper’s shocked expression, whooped with pure elation, and hopped into a taxi on her way to her new shared residence with one of many, abundant friends, at least--and that was two days ago.

It’s like part of him was twisted in half and torn out, except he can only really feel numb, in all actuality. He’d known Mabel was becoming her own person for entirely too long, drifting away from Dipper, passing off on their movie and game nights for dates and outings with friends, keeping secrets, and all Dipper had done was… study, isolated as ever. He had it coming, really. Getting to school would only mean seeing Mabel for the first time since that, and knowing Mabel, she would brighten his mood no matter how icy-cold-freezing the blood pumping through his veins had become.

He smiles at the thought, tapping his finger against the steering wheel of Grunkle Stan’s old, dubiously-acquired car ( _“It’s not old, it’s vintage,” he’d claimed_ ) as he pulls into the school parking lot and yanks the keys out of the ignition. 

It’d been two days since the dream, too, and nothing had occurred out of the ordinary--for Gravity Falls, at least. There was the occasional unnatural scuttling as he entered his dark bedroom at night or stifled murmurs outside paired with strange knocking, thumping, clanging, et cetera--Dipper did his best to ignore it. 

He finally hops out of his car after a solid two minutes of quiet contemplation and makes his way into the school.

As expected, Mabel is the first person who notices him (actually, notice is an understatement; she slapped him on the back way too aggressively to be friendly, covered his eyes, and nearly strangled him getting an unsolicited piggy-back ride).

“Hey, Little Dipper!” Mabel cheers, opening her arms up and grinning at him. “Did ya miss me?”

“It’s been two days,” Dipper reiterates, raising his eyebrows and patting her head affectionately. “You’re not that important.”

(Okay, she is that important, and they both know.) Mabel’s grin only grows wider. “I see you’ve accepted my status as Alpha Twin, Dip-Dop! What’s been going on lately? You look less awful than the last time I saw you!”

“Nothing.” They reach Dipper’s assigned locker and he digs out a lock, twisting the dial in all-too-familiar patterns. “As usual. You?”

Mabel puts an elbow on Dipper’s shoulder and leans on it as a blatant act of superiority, despite their mere one-millimetre difference that’d remained throughout the years, watching him undo the lock. “Watched a movie last night, can’t remember what it was about! Also, played Never Have I Ever during a slumber party with some friends.”

Dipper rolls his eyes, putting the lock on the locker and closing it with a metallic click. “Mabel, that’s a juvenile game, and you know that if our parents knew you were drinking they would disown both of us--”

“No toxic substances involved, don’t worry,” Mabel assures with a presumptuous snort. “Remember when we had one sip of beer in tenth grade and got so freaked out we skipped school for two days because we were certain everyone could tell?”

“Actually, no, I think my brain is blocking out traumatic memories on its own,” Dipper scoffs. “Okay, that was dumb, but now we know better. And it’s not like we’re going to drink until we’re twenty-one, either. Right?”

“ _Riiight_. Yeah. You’ll succumb eventually, Sin Twin.”

“Pssht. Like you wouldn’t. I know you have impulse control issues.”

“Alpha Twin! Alpha Twin!”

“Oh, shut up.” 

The remainder of Dipper’s morning ends up, unsurprisingly, quite uneventful. Since it’s the first day, most of what they accomplish in their classes consists of simple introductions and basics, a decent portion of which Dipper decides to tune out of.

In the course of his thoughts considering classes and the scoping the potential homework load for that year based on them, he finds his thoughts wandering back again to Bill, Bill, Bill. This had been happening often lately; whenever he finds himself caught off guard or even just remotely distracted, everything starts to look like it points back to the scintillating, sharp-tongued demon who, last time they’d interacted, had literally started the apocalypse and tried to kill his family. But forgive and forget, right?

Dipper almost snorts aloud at the very notion, picking up his pencil and doodling triangles with X’s marked all over them until the bell rings and delineates the start of lunch.

The school is docile at the beginning of the year, so several people (several too many, compared to the later months in the school year as soon as the first-week-of-school rush is over) wave to Dipper in the halls. They say hello, tell him he’s gotten taller (which he hasn’t--he’s been stuck at the uninspiring height of 5’7 since sophomore year--but he doesn’t tell them that), and that they’ve missed him, and then they move on and return to disregarding his lackluster existence like usual.

Unlike Mabel, he had been blessed with the wondrous gift of zero social ability or people skills whatsoever, rendering him useless in any situation involving anyone other than the paranormal, trigonometry, astrophysics, or omelettes. 

Unlike Mabel, who actually looks happy to be back at school, and all he can do when she waves her arms emphatically from across the cafeteria as soon as he enters is sigh and head over because no one can say no to Mabel, and she’s the only reason anyone even knows who Dipper is.

Mabel grabs his arm and drags him into a seat the second he’s in her proximity, grinning at him. He shoots the rest of the table a wary smile. “Hey, Dippin’ Dot! You guys gotta meet Dipper, he’s like, the biggest nerd. And his name’s not actually Dipper, we just call him Dipper because he has this embarrassing birthmark on his forehead of the Big Dipper, you know, that constellation thing?” 

Dipper stands up as fast as his legs can enable him, feeling the blood in his cheeks spring to the surface. “ _Okay_ , that’s enough Mabel for today--”

Mabel laughs as the conversation at the crowded table resumes. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop, you’re hilarious--”

And with that, Dipper exercises his ability to fade into the background once more, thrilled to find that it still works, and expeditiously uses it to escape the throes of social interaction at Mabel’s table--as soon as humanly possible.

It’s all a normal day. A normal year. And as long as Bill doesn’t return, he gets above 95% in all of his courses, and is accepted to whatever college or university he decides on attending in the end, it’ll be a normal life.

Of course, since life isn’t fair and seems to view Dipper with some sort of particular desire to watch him crash and burn, it gives him a coke stain on his comfiest red flannel, a slightly bruised ass, and a girl sitting a few feet away from him, seemingly unconscious.

Dipper could start crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was a mess i promise it'll be less of a mess later (im jk again its gonna be even more of a mess but it'll be a beautiful mess so dont go yet)
> 
> thanks for stickin around to the end of this lackluster introductory chapter and that's pretty much the only bill you're getting for the next few thousand words so enjoy it while it lasts
> 
> see ya next chap fuckers stick around


	2. the ballad of me and my brain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again in case u missed it; chapter title is from the 1975 wink wonk

Dipper blanks, any previous traffic in his head halted. “Hey, uh. Holy shit. Are you okay?”

She blinks twice as some sort of vague response and Dipper stands up hastily, dusting off his legs and holding a hand out as some form of reconciliation. 

“I’m alive,” she says after a moment, taking his outstretched hand and heaving herself up on his own weight (or, rather, lack thereof). “I hope.”

“Um, I think you spilled… and… uh, dropped some things--and now you’re bleeding.” Dipper winces at his barely-coherent speech, immediately crouching down to scoop up a coke-stained form and a half-empty can of the offending substance. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah. I am so sorry.” She reaches a hand up to touch her nose, ivory skin coming back streaked with bright red. She takes a second to contemplate the development, staring at the blood with a curious, childlike wonder. “I am bleeding,” she remarks.

“Sorry for bumping into you. I didn’t see you.” Dipper smiles weakly, holding her belongings out in front of him like a peace offering. “You should probably… go to the bathroom or something.”

She accepts the papers and can of coke, tucking a choppy strand of ginger hair behind her ear. “I probably should. Sorry. Um. About your shirt, I mean. Oh, god.”

“Oh, this?” Dipper chuckles nervously, holding the stained fabric out in front of himself, holding back a grimace. “It’s nothing. I’ll tie it around my waist and throw it in the washer when I get home. And, uh, you’re still bleeding.”

“Oh!” She pinches her nose, a bit of blood trickling down her arm. “I would offer to take your shirt and go wash it myself, but I’m afraid I’d get blood all over it. Sorry, uh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, really.” It’s not. “I have, like, five of the exact same flannel, anyways.” This one was the nicest. “The stain will come out fine, too.” If he let it dry at school, it would most definitely stain permanently. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll just, um, hide in the bathrooms until it stops. Thanks.”

“Right. Of course.”

With that, she gives him a terse smile and walks away briskly (in the opposite direction of the bathrooms, but Dipper doesn’t find it in him to point that out) and Dipper walks away in the direction of his own destination.

Dipper doesn’t have any classes with Mabel until the second semester, which means only seeing her briefly, a few times a day, and on the weekends she decides to drop by the Mystery Shack. Upon realising this, Dipper avoids the heavy feeling in his chest as best as he can, not thinking about what made them split like this, not thinking about why they were suddenly like distant friends instead of practically soulmates, and definitely not thinking about what it was like when they did everything together.

Of course, he thinks about this. And then he thinks about Bill. And then he thinks about not wanting to think ever again, and smiles to himself in the car while faint music crackles through the machine’s battered speakers, because pain and thinking shouldn’t correlate directly with each other and work in tandem but they do and that’s ridiculous.

Dipper’s been missing half of himself for the longest time.

His last class is enriched English, which should be straining and dull and shitty but it’s not and Dipper has enough to begin to form a list in his head of the things that he’s been told in the past few weeks that have begun to slowly chip away at his sanity--so far, he’s gotten “pick a partner and get started on this project I’m going to give you,” and anything comprised of “kid,” “Pine Tree,” or “mindscape.” 

Before he can get up and request the project done individually, though, someone raises their hand and says, crystal clear; “I want to be partners with Dipper.”

A raised eyebrow and a wave of confused murmurs and nervous chuckling. “Miss Northwest, please be patient, I’m going to let you pick partners in just a moment. Anyways, as soon as everyone’s gotten the outline, I’m going to explain the criteria and I’m not saying anything twice so listen carefully and take notes if you need them--”

Dipper is staring at the page in front of him with wide eyes, avoiding eye contact at all costs. There are twenty pairs of eyes boring holes into him like lasers, though, which gets really hard to ignore after a solid minute, but all he can really do is pick up his pen and scribble a few lines in the margins of his paper to pretend he’s writing.

He glances up and Pacifica isn’t looking at him. She’s composed as ever.

She stands and starts in the direction of Dipper’s desk after a few moments, though, and it takes him a second to realise that everyone else is standing and discussing the project, too. 

“You didn’t take a sheet, so I took one for you.” She sticks a piece of paper under his nose. 

Dipper just stares at her expectantly.

A huff. “What?”

“Why did you want to be partners with me?” Dipper questions flatly.

“Just… deal with it, okay?”Pacifica looks shifty; uncomfortable--and Dipper raises his eyebrows. “I need an excuse to talk to you sometime soon. What does it do to you, anyway?”

Dipper frowns and accepts the sheet of paper. “You’ve just forcibly removed my invisibility cloak against my will. Everyone is staring.”

“Oh, please.”

“Torn it _right_ off. This is going to take _ages_ to pass over.”

“A week or two, maximum.”

Dipper scoffs, adjusting the collar of his flannel and picking up his pencil. “Eons.”

And Pacifica rolls her eyes--fondly? Dipper must be hallucinating. “You’ll survive.”

Dipper snorts a little. “Barely.” He flips the page in front of him over, clicking his pen closed and opened once, twice, scribbling down a date. “So; project.”

He spends the period concentrating on disregarding the stares directed his way.

The rest of the week passes unexceptionally, much reflective of Dipper’s own constant internal monologue. He forgets a lot of the details about his dream with Bill, because that’s all it was--a dream--and dreams fade like that. Dipper and Mabel aren’t on the grandest terms, but they’re solid and it’s a lot better than nothing--what else is new? He doesn’t see the girl who bumped into him in the hall again, odd considering the (lacking) size of their school. (Spoiler alert, his flannel stains. He spends the evening grieving over the lost life.)

The weekend is just that: the end to another week. Dipper doesn’t bother changing out of his underwear and opts for a bowl of cereal and a _The Walking Dead_ marathon as his agenda for the morning. 

It starts raining sometime after noon, which some part of Dipper registers as he draws the curtains and settles down at his desk in the late afternoon for whatever homework their notoriously-hated Advanced Functions teacher had assigned. 

Saturday passes like it does every week. Dipper gets a call from Mabel a day after, and doesn’t pick up. His phone is all heavy, a dead weight with Pacifica’s phone number and untouched voicemails, and Mabel’s missed call only amplifies the burden. 

She’s left a message, though, so that night (after a few hours of weary thought and apprehensive looks at the phone lying across the room from him) he grudgingly picks it up and listens to it.

_“Hey, Dippin’ Dot! I know you never check your voicemail--or, at least, you didn’t for a while--but I’d… really like it if I got some help from you. I mean, it’s probably super dumb, right? Ah, worth a shot. If you do listen to this before the end of the world, have a good afternoon! Or night, or morning, I guess. Call me. Soon. Maybe.”_

Dipper grimaces and deletes the voicemail as soon as it’s over, tossing his phone back at the foot of the bed and returning his attention to his book.

_Are you sure you want to do that right now?_

Dipper purses his lips and flips the page of his book. The paragraphs are passing straight through his brain like it’s intangible and he squints at the page, thinking that maybe it’s just his eyes defocusing themselves, but they’re still as meaningless at all--wordswordswords and that’s all he can read.

_She’s your sister._

Dipper folds the corner of his page down and tosses it to the foot of his bed with his phone before standing up and pulling a sweater on over his shoulders, shivering in the cool air outside of his covers. 

_A few years ago, you would’ve agreed to help Mabel in any way you could before you even knew what the problem was._

“Okay, well, it’s not _a few years ago_ anymore, _is it_?” Dipper snaps, collapsing into the seat at his desk and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Silence. Quiet scuttling under the floorboards. A long, heavy, sigh and all Dipper can do is power on his laptop and log on because his hands aren’t busy anymore and they have to be.

⨻

Dipper wakes up in the middle of the night one week later. He knows it’s just after three in the morning, he knows he hadn’t been in the middle of any dream before, and he knows there’s something in the dark he can’t see--Dipper knows too much.

The bed doesn’t creak when he sits up but the door to his bedroom does, too loudly, too slowly. A sliver of moonlight from the hallway falls on the splintering floorboards and he stiffens.

Nothing happens. He side-steps to the fireplace and picks up a rusty poker anyway--just in case--and advances towards the open door. Gulping and biting the inside of his cheek until he’s sure he’s drawn blood, the shoves the door open in one deft movement and thrusts the poker in front of him.

Someone yelps and he drops the poker with a thud, scrambling to flick on the lights to his bedroom behind him. 

Dipper squints while his eyes adjust, blinking a few times in shock. “Mabel? What are you doing here?”

Mabel stares at him, the whites of her eyes shining in the light of the bedroom. “Oh, uh, nothing! Really! I just… Dipper, I just really wanted to talk, okay?” It takes a moment for Dipper to hear the difference in her voice--hear the vague cracks, the occasional sniff. “I miss you. And… I’m having a bit of trouble. You didn’t respond to my voicemail. Do you still--not check it?”

“I heard it.”

“Oh. Well.”

Mabel’s been crying. Dipper only stares. He should be helping, really, should be showing some sign of concern, but all he can really do is stare at her like she’s some sort of obscurity or cryptid and she waits expectantly, the desperate look on her face slowly morphing into one of confusion and anger.

“Okay, well, I’m just going to talk, then,” she says with a light scoff, swiping underneath her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater and shoving past him roughly.

Dipper holds back a laugh, because that’d be inappropriate. Obviously. He gives a miniscule shake of his head, staring at the ground, and follows her into the bedroom after a moment.

She’s taken a seat at his desk, hugging her knees close to her chest, so Dipper moves to the far side of the room and takes a seat on his bed, hands clasped together under his chin. 

Mabel glares at him. She inhales, exhales, huffs derisively, and begins--“Basically, I’ve sort of formed some sort of friendship with Pacifica over the past few years, and now we’re pretty close, right? Only, last week, she was asked out by some guy. Some college freshman we were friends with who graduated last year. And she said yes, and she told me it was only because he offered a movie she’s wanted to see for a while and it’s _charitable_ , and now I’m just, like, overwhelmingly jealous. It’s insane.” She’s started before he can invite her to, words running together, sentences rushed and hastily formed, and Dipper raises an eyebrow.

“Except, it’s not a friendly sort of jealous, it’s just plain jealous, and that means I want to date Pacifica, right? That means I want to hold hands with her and go on dates with her and cuddle with her and kiss her and be a disgusting couple together in public with her, and I _don’t_. I mean, I _shouldn’t_. I--I don’t _know_ , and it’s ruining me. _Ruining me!_ ”

She stops, the sound of the clock on his bedside returning back to the foreground, and Dipper stares at her.

And then he starts to laugh. It’s an amusing sort of laugh, high-pitched, obvious and loud, shameless, mocking, and Dipper doesn’t know why it’s so funny, but it is--it’s funny how humans have so many rules and social restrictions, it’s funny how Mabel is wasting her short, fleeting lifespan on them, and it’s funny how everything is _so damn funny_. 

After a considerable amount of laughing, Mabel is staring at him and she looks insulted which is _hilarious._ “Man, are people always this _ridiculous_?” He muses, wiping a tear from his eye. Since when had everything been so funny? And since when had he become such a dick? He laughs a little at that, and Mabel only looks increasingly baffled. 

“Okay, want to know what I think?” He asks with a chuckle, standing up and pacing away from the bed, hands linked behind his back. “We’re all going to die one day, Mabel! The human race itself will be obliterated, and no matter how important anyone is, they’re going to be forgotten, along with our very existence! I don’t care what happens between you and Pacifica, and neither should you!”

Mabel stares at him, shocked, and he blinks a few times, bringing his hands back in front of them and looking at them curiously. “Excuse me?”

He looks at her, panicked, and suddenly, nothing is as funny as it was before. “Mabel, fuck, I don’t know what just happened, I--!”

“Oh, so this is why you’ve been avoiding me for the past four months?” Mabel snaps, sitting up and smoothing her skirt down. Her eyes are watering now and Dipper is running his fingers through his hair, tugging at the strands sharply and tearing through his thoughts in a haze of alarm. “You don’t care? Well, okay, fine! I guess I’ll leave and go talk to someone who’s actually going to take me seriously!”

“Mabel, please!”

“Save it.” Mabel walks out the door and slams it behind her, her footsteps sounding further and further away until he hears the front door close loudly and she’s gone. 

“I--I’m sorry.” 

The room is silent, save for the clock and the wind outside the house and the pulse pounding in his throat, and he can’t find it in himself to cry.

He hasn’t been able to cry since the very first dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay im super sorry about how long this took jfc i thought it'd take shorter but then school happened and now im Horribly sick fuckin,,, useless ass immune system subject to even academic stress,, i'm soRRY
> 
> anyways i hope u enjoyed and that some questions were answered and some answers were questioned ;0 i'd tell u that the next chapter is coming soon but no promises (we can hope)
> 
> this was very poorly edited but even if u do find a mistake im probably not gonna fix it cos im a lazy bum cya fuckers stick around


	3. settle down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took a little while and was a little bit short too but i promise things will pick up the pace next chapter ;0 enjoy!

Dipper finds himself looking at the slanted attic ceiling of the room with detached interest and blearily registering how light it is for six in the morning on a day in September. With the angle his room is facing, it really shouldn’t be this light until noon.

He sits up, rubbing his eyes. His limbs are heavy, blocks of lead, and there’s a ringing in his ears that really shouldn’t be there. The blinking red light of his digital alarm clock catches his eye, and he tilts his head to glance at it.

It’s light because it _is_ noon.

Dipper contemplates racing to the bathroom to try and get to school before his fourth period but the second he heaves himself up an inch higher than he was before, every nerve in his body is screaming and he lets himself fall back down. He closes his eyes and goes limp.

He’s exhausted beyond any virus he’s contracted before.

Dipper goes back to sleep nearly instantly.

⨻

Dipper drifts in and out of consciousness throughout the entire afternoon. When he is awake, though barely, there are strange shadows, eyes staring at him from all directions, strange codes on the walls and furniture, but they disappear as soon as he blinks and he’s as alone as he was from the start. 

Somewhere around the time the sun is starting to set, he gets a call. At first, the sound of his ringtone sounds just like the ringing in his ears, reverberating in his head and pulsing through his veins like the noise is almost physical, tangible--but it’s still louder, crisper, still discernible from the alarms inside his head. He lifts a hand, picks it up and glances at the screen, and then he puts it back down on the nightstand with a clatter and sends it to voicemail.

After a few seconds, he picks it up again and stares at it as if doing so will somehow communicate to the device that he wants it to stop existing right that second. Then, he squeezes his eyes shut, opens them, and plays the message.

_“Dipper, it’s Pacifica. If you’re listening to this, meet me in front of the library. I’m going to be there and if you don’t come you’re going to be standing me up, so you’d better have a good reason. See you there.”_

He must have eaten sometime that afternoon because his stomach isn’t caving in on itself quite yet, but he doesn’t remember getting up at all. Dipper closes his eyes again, letting his arm go slack and dangle over the side of the bed, fingertips grazing the floor. A minute passes. Another minute.

Dipper sighs after he doesn’t fall asleep again, the ringing in his ears becoming more insistent as the seconds tick by, and he sits up.

Getting out of bed takes a little longer than it usually does, but as soon as he’s standing, stumbling to the bathroom and splashing water on his face does a decent job at waking him up enough for functioning. He brushes his teeth, swaps his dirty, oversized shirt for something clean, practises a proper-living-person smile in the mirror, shoves a notebook and a pair of earbuds into his backpack with his phone, and he’s out the door within twenty minutes.

The cool night air fans over his skin and he slides into the driver’s seat of his car. For a moment, he doesn’t quite remember where he’s going, but a voice in his head whispers _‘library’_ and he draws his eyebrows together, starting the engine.

Dipper doesn’t think about it. He concentrates on driving, retracing the route through his head, glancing at vibrantly coloured road signs concealed with overgrown plants, lonely stoplights at deserted intersections, cracked pavement, muted noise in the distance; this is Gravity Falls. This is home. 

For some reason, Dipper feels hollow when he pulls up to the familiar city library, and it’s not because he hasn’t eaten anything for a couple hours at the very least. 

Pacifica raises a neatly-groomed eyebrow at him as he approaches. Her bangs are clipped to the side, having grown out quite a bit since she stopped trimming them. “You came.”

Dipper shoves his hands into his pockets, shrugging. “I did.”

A short laugh. It’s supposed to be conversational, but it just sounds a little cold. Everything sounds cold to Dipper. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to come.”

Dipper smiles feebly. “Wouldn’t. Couldn’t. You were a _little_ threatening.”

Pacifica snorts. “A little.”

“Understatement of the year. I meant _very_. You are a very terrifying person.”

Pacifica laughs again and shoots him an odd smile. “You know, if you changed your hair and clothes and talked a bit more, you’d probably be pretty popular.” She shrugs. “I mean, just an observation.”

“Really,” Dipper questions, though it doesn’t sound like one. “What about you? If you changed your hair and clothes and talked a bit less, would you be one of us?”

“Ha. Real funny,” she says with a sarcastic drone. Turning around and heading up the steps to the entrance of the library, she beckons him forward.“Come on, our project is due next class and you missed today’s work period.” 

“Right. Coming.”

They finish the project at the library then, and Dipper goes back home as soon as Pacifica’s chauffeur picks her up. She looks like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t, so Dipper tells himself it was nothing at all and forgets it ever happened. 

He has a dreamless sleep.

⨻

The remainder of the month passes by in a blur. Much of it is spent studying, sleeping, trying to ignore the persistent feeling in his gut that something is off, and he looks over colleges in the area. The second his fingers betray him and tap on the applications page, though, he powers the laptop off and goes back to sulking.

Soon enough, the last week of September is over and the month turns to a close. There are crudely-designed orange flyers tacked to the walls all over the school and talk of the Halloween dance slowly makes its way into people’s conversations, which Dipper is pulled into occasionally. The interactions are brief, nonetheless, because all he can do is smile tersely and promise to give it some thought before dropping prospect of going entirely.

Dipper is determined to wait for all the drama in his life to blow over on its own and spend the year laying as low as he can--the way he’s done things for the past three years. 

One nondescript Thursday later, marking off the beginning of October, Dipper finds himself sitting in a Moonbucks--Gravity Falls’ own knockoff Starbucks--sipping at a watery Americano and waiting for Mabel to arrive. He’s hoping that they’ll have a calm discussion about their dispute, Dipper will apologise, Mabel will forgive him, and they can go back to whatever strained relationship they had before because anything is better than the cold looks she shoots him whenever they make accidental eye contact, or the lingering hurt on her face whenever she thinks he isn’t looking--if Dipper didn’t know better, he’d say that those looks hurt him more than he had hurt Mabel. 

Sooner or later, Mabel barges into the shop, startling the lone employee at the counter out of his daze and marching up to the register. The cafe is empty, aside from a few students at the local university and some sort of bird-rat hybrid body-slamming into one of the closed windows insistently.

“One large caramel mocha cotton candy frappuccino for Mabel, please and thank you,” Mabel demands shortly, sliding a ten dollar bill over the counter as the barista nods frantically and scribbles the order down on a plastic cup. 

She shoves her change into her purse and walks over to Dipper after, the barista turning one of the brewers on behind the counter and blinking away the sleep in his eyes. She pulls out the chair across from him and sits down, arms crossed. “Know why I called you here?”

Dipper exhales, setting his coffee down, plastic grey stirrer clinking against the cardboard rim. “Yes. Mabel, I am really, really sorry.”

“For?”

“I--I honestly, really don’t know what came over me that day. I--I think it was stress, or maybe I just wasn’t thinking properly, or--” Dipper inhales sharply, a quick, maniacal cackle sounding from in his head somewhere--he’s almost certain it came from somewhere in the room, but Mabel hasn’t seemed to notice anything odd. He ignores it. “I’m sorry. That’s all.”

“Um, large caramel mocha cotton candy frappuccino for Ma--”

“Got it,” Mabel says, hopping off her chair and running over to the counter to take the ridiculously pink, sludgy, glittery drink off the surface and grab a straw. “Thanks.”

She takes a sip of the drink, sitting back down. 

Dipper raises an eyebrow. She smiles weakly.

“Dipper, what’s been going on with you lately?” Mabel sighs, stirring the whipped cream topping and caramel drizzle into her abomination of a drink. 

“... What do you mean?” Dipper says after a moment’s hesitation, picking up the plastic coffee stirrer and swirling it around his lacklustre coffee anxiously.

Mabel waves a neatly manicured hand. “You know, you’ve… changed. You’re so much more… isolated. Like, you were before, but now it’s a little ridiculous.”

He stares at her for a moment, straightened hair and white teeth and expensive sweaters, and then his gaze flits down to look at the ripples in the dark surface of the liquid he’s created. “And you haven’t?”

Mabel bites her bottom lip. Her voice comes out constrained. “I’m still me, though. Right?”

Dipper sighs a little, pushing his disappointing Americano far away from himself. “I… really can’t answer that, Mabel. You’re talking about me changing as if you haven’t changed just as much.”

Something in the way Mabel is looking at him alters, like a switch in her has been flipped. Or maybe that’s Dipper--he has no way to tell anymore. Someone else walks into the cafe, talking hastily into a phone. Another barista emerges from a back room and pulls a grey apron off a rack. Someone from several tables away laughs loudly. Mabel doesn’t notice any of it.

She stands, picking her frappuccino up. “I’m sorry, Dipper, I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Dipper sits back dejectedly as she pulls the front door open and starts her walk home as the sun starts to set, staring at his lukewarm cup of coffee blankly. 

_You had it coming._

“I know,” he mutters.

⨻

That night, Dipper wakes up in the middle of the night with heat prickling at the base of his neck and something wet trickling down his chin. There are no obscure shadows, voices, and everything is real when Dipper kicks open the door of his bathroom with a hand over his nose and squeezes his eyes shut when the blindingly bright light bursts from inside as soon as he has the light switch flicked on.

Dipper curses and leans over the sink, blood splattering onto the pale white ceramic while he rinses off his hand with icy water and splashes some onto his face.

Pinching his nose and yanking some tissues from the box in the drawer to staunch the flow of blood temporarily, he glances up from the bathroom counter to look at his reflection.

He can almost hear his heart dropping.

His eyes flash gold at him for a moment, like the glint of something metal in the forest at high noon, just for a second--brilliant yellow-gold and stark black pupils in a shocking contrast, but he blinks and it’s gone. Leaning into the mirror until his face is mere inches away from his own reflection, he moves the hand pinching his nose to pry his eye open and stare at it.

Unmistakably gold flecks dance in the light against his normal black-brown irises and he leans back, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing his temple.

Had those always been there? Definitely not. They were practically fluorescent, he would have noticed before--it was almost unnatural.

And then he opens his eyes, half-expecting Bill to saunter into the room, throwing around offhand insults and twirling his cane and turning his hands into spoons or something.

That doesn’t happen.

The flow of blood has stopped now, so he tosses the bloodstained tissues into the trash and gives himself one last look in the mirror before turning the bathroom lights off and exiting, shutting the door behind himself. He slides back into bed, closes his eyes, and tries his best to go back to sleep.

That doesn’t happen, either.

Groaning loudly, he reaches over, clicks on the lamp at his bedside, and digs Journal 3 out of his drawer. He flips to the page with Bill Cipher scrawled at the top in black marker, faded lettering and the blood splatters he tries to ignore. He’s stuck a few notes in it, cringing at his handwriting from four years ago after the possession incident, shaky and smudged in places because his right wrist was broken and he had to use his left.

There’s nothing in his own notes or Ford’s that can help him, so he throws it back in the drawer with a sigh and closes it. 

Then he takes a deep breath, shuts his eyes, and says: “Bill?”

There’s a turning in his stomach, the colour in the world bleeding out into blacks and greys, that familiar laugh, and Dipper opens his eyes to glare at the one-eyed demon in front of him. He returns the glare with a smug look. 

“You called?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you know it's really goshdarn painful to write 3 chapters of quiet, lonely introspection? cos it is,, don't recommend it but its necessary i promise (do u see that slow build tag up there yea i put it there for a reason sorry pal) 
> 
> anyways! comments are super duper fun to read so leave em no matter how short or long!! they give me motivation to write faster so hint hint u know ;0 chat with me on my tungle @ deciphere-d, stick around for the next chapter, yada yada see u fuckers aroUND


	4. heart out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last chapter since it's been so long: dipper is tired as fuck, his relationship with mabel falls apart at the seams, bill comes in oh shit waddup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes man this took way too long to write!! I'm going to try and get the next chapter out at a reasonable time after this :") enjoy if u will!

“You called?” Bill asks, legs crossed and body leant backwards unceremoniously. 

Dipper’s eyebrow gives a tiny twitch. “Explain.”

Bill turns his cane over in his hands in a blatant display of indifference, looking more interested in the object than the situation at hand. He glances at Dipper in amusement. “Well, I can’t read minds, kid! Explain what?”

Dipper purses his lips, knowing very well that they’re both well aware of the obvious lie. “You. Yourself. Me. Everything.”

He gives an idle hum. “Only…” he spins the cane, letting it disappear in a burst of cyan flames. “If there’s something in it for me.” He outstretches a hand, the blue glow erupting from his palm casting silhouettes on the walls. “What do you say? Make a good old deal with your trusty friend, Bill?”

Dipper sucks on his bottom lip, staring at the inviting hand warily. “What sort of deal?”

“You let us coexist! Peacefully. It’s not the best of situations for me, either, you know.” Bill gives his hand a little impatient jerk. “Well? Information for a ceasefire?”

Dipper stares at him doubtfully. “Information first.”

“Kid, you know that’s not how deals work.”

He crosses his arms. “What have you got to lose?”

Bill narrows his eye and extinguishes the flame in his palm with a wave. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you?”

Dipper raises his eyebrows. “You know it.”

They stare at each other for a moment, like it’s a challenge, like they’re both waiting for the other to break, tension rising to a boiling point, suffocating--and then it snaps.

“Well! Time for that juicy info, huh?” Bill’s cane materialises again, jolting Dipper out of the trance. It spins into his hand while he adjusts his bowtie. He takes a seat on the bed, clearing his throat. “Well, you see, I’ve been digging around the mindscape and your head for the past little while, monitoring your behavior and thoughts and emotions--”

Dipper blinks. “ _Excuse_ me?”

“--and sheesh, you are a real downer, kid! Cheer up!”

Bill is talking eighty miles an hour, so much information being thrusted upon Dipper it’s as if Bill is trying to overwhelm him. Maybe he is--no, knowing Bill, he probably is.

“Anyways, you could call it research.” Bill’s eye glints tauntingly in the light coming from Dipper’s dim bedside lamp, and even though he’s barely the size of a small cat and both of them are equally vulnerable in the position they’re in, Dipper is abruptly reminded that this is the demon who tried to kill everyone he loved and take over the universe years ago.

With Dipper’s full attention at this point, Bill keeps going. “What I’ve discovered about our particular bond is that _you_ have dominance! And don’t look at me like that just yet, I can still bend the very fabric of reality at the snap of a finger--what it means is that, as long as you’re alive, I’m alive, too. If I die, you’ll keep living. If you die, you’re bringing both of us with you.”

“And… how did you discover that?” Dipper asks with some apprehension, uncrossing his arms and trying his best not to shift the knee Bill is perched atop.

Bill rolls his eye, planting his cane on the mattress and leaning back on top of it. “Questions later! Though, to answer your question with another question, you know how you’ve been feeling close to death for the past little while?”

Dipper rubs his eyes. “Oh, god.”

“That’s because you were on the very brink of your demise! If you get hurt, so do I. If I do, however… I guess I’m a parasite, of sorts.” Bill’s expressions turns into that of a frown. “I’m still unsure if that’s an opportunity for me or a demotion.”

“I sincerely hope it’s a demotion,” Dipper deadpans, staring at the wall in front of him. His gaze flickers over to the triangular demon. “So, what, do I just go jump off a bridge or something? Would you die?”

“Oh, well, I can take control of your body at any time, so even if you had the guts to do that, I’d possess you before you did anything really rash!” Bill laughs merrily, twirling his cane around, around, around--Dipper watches it spin with vague attentiveness. “Anyways, continuing on--as much as I’d hate to give you any unfair advantages, if the situation calls for it, you get my powers, too.”

Dipper glances at him. “Explain.”

“Pyrokinesis, telepathy, precognition, piano playing, telekinesis--to name a few,” he lists off, looking rather presumptuous about the whole thing. “Not all of them, though. _You_ don’t get cross-dimensional awareness. And there needs to be consent from me, and you can’t go too wild or I’ll be completely drained, so use ‘em sparingly, kid. Yeesh, so many restrictions!”

Dipper sighs deeply--the pace Bill is going at is agonizing. “Piano playing?”

“Well, Pine Tree, I’ve spent millennia alive, you don’t think I wouldn’t have learned something as mundane as the piano? It doesn’t even cross your mind for a second that I may have been the very one to invent the piano in the first place? Dig out a musical history book and really _look_ , kid, I can _guarantee_ \--”

“Nevermind, forget I asked.” Dipper pinches the bridge of his nose, willing the incessant throbbing to go away. He glances at Bill, slightly distressed, and gestures at his head vaguely. “Listen, can you--?”

Bill looks at him flatly for a second, then relents and snaps his fingers. “Only because it’s getting a little _irritating_ to be interrupted all the time,” he warns, eyes flashing red, and Dipper nods quickly.

A spike of pain, and then soothing cold seeps into his bones, numbing everything in its path. “Sorry. Keep going,” Dipper mumbles, shoulders untensing quickly at the release. Bill stares at him for a second, unreadable--as soon as Dipper gives him an unsettled look, he gives it up and continues on.

“Aside from that, I’ve detected some sort of energy coming from a source in your school. It’s why I was able to access you again in the first place.” Bill pauses, seemingly revising his sentences in his head; “I’ll need to keep investigating. I’ll be in your head tomorrow, so do as I say if I decide on anything. Now, do we have a deal?”

At Dipper’s look of concern regarding that, Bill waves his hand, leaning backward onto his cane again nonchalantly. “Relax, kid, I promise I won’t do anything to harm your fragile human morals or masculinity. Think of it as saving this dimension from impending doom instead of big scary Bill possessing poor little Dipper if it makes you feel better.”

“I can easily find, like, fifteen loopholes in that sentence alone,” Dipper responds dubiously. “Give me something substantial.”

“Yowza, you really are tricky, aren’t you, kid? Fine, I solemnly swear I will not engage in mischief of any sort.” Bill waves the hand cast in blue flames in Dipper’s face again. “You happy?”

Dipper winces, leaning away from the fire. “... Please don’t say ‘yowza’.”

“ _Yowza._ ”

“I hate you.”

Bill laughs. 

Dipper shakes Bill's outstretched hand.

⨻

“ _DING DING DING DING DING!_ ”

“What the _fuck_ \--”

Dipper lurches out of whatever dream he was in the middle of in an instant, throwing his covers off in a panicked blur.

“ _Did I wake you up? Haha, of course I woke you up. Top of the morning to you, sunshine! Boy, are you looking swell!_ ”

Dipper groans, yanking his covers back over his legs and burying his face in his hands. “Bill, the sun hasn’t even risen yet. I don’t wake for--” He glances at his alarm clock. “Another two hours.”

“ _I am well aware!_ ” Bill crows, sounding much too amused with Dipper’s groggy, half-asleep state to mean anything good for him. “ _Anyways, I’m going to be talking to you through your thoughts the whole day. Sweet, right? Just discovered it thirty seconds ago! But you can’t reply in public, unless you want everyone to look at you like you’re insane. Still need to work on figuring your mind out! Who knew a neurotic, jiggly lump of meat would be so complicated, right? Humans are terribly designed!_ ”

“Couldn’t you have waited until my _actual_ alarm rang at a _proper_ time to explain all this to me?” Dipper mutters, rubbing his head and settling back into his pillows.

“ _I am a busy man, Pine Tree! I have a tight schedule! You’re lucky I managed to fit you in!_ ”

“ _‘Lucky’_ ,” Dipper scoffs, turning to face the wall and closing his eyes again. “For _fuck’s_ sake, let me _sleep._ ”

To Dipper’s relief, Bill seems to assent, closing off his enthusiastic speech with a teasing, “ _Again, lucky for you, that’s all I’ve got left to say! I’m going to need you in an alert state for our reconnaissance mission tomorrow! Sleep like you mean it, kid!_ ” and Dipper goes back to sleep as fast as he’d waken up. He isn’t sure if it’s because it’s literally four in the morning or because of something Bill’s done to make it happen, but he’s too tired to begin to consider anything.

He doesn’t dream, and once he wakes up to his familiar alarm, his nerves are somewhat quelled. Though the noise is irritating and loud and reminiscent of the dream demon’s voice itself, it’s better than the real deal.

⨻

“Dipper?”

Dipper glances up from the screen of his phone, pulling an earbud out of his ear. 

“Hey. Uh, maybe you’re wondering why I know your name when you’ve never introduced yourself.” The girl who’s collapsed down onto the floor next to him smiles, choppy brown hair falling into green eyes. Bill snorts softly in his head. “Pacifica told me who you were. I spilled my drink on your shirt, remember?”

Dipper returns the smile weakly, turning his music down and shoving his phone in his pocket. “Yeah, I remember. Uh--” He raises an eyebrow. “Pacifica?”

“You’re friends, aren’t you?”

Dipper frowns. “Ah, sure.”

“Well, hey, I’m Margo. Sorry about your shirt. I really owe you one, huh?”

Dipper shrugs. “It was an accident. It’s fine.”

“‘ _It was an accident, it’s fine_ ’,” Bill mocks in a stinging, soprano voice. He laughs sharply at Dipper’s suppressed grimace.

“No, I totally ruined your shirt. I should pay you back, or something.” Furrowing her brows in contemplation, she scratches her chin, staring at the ground. Then, eyes going wide and snapping her fingers, she looks at him expectantly--”Are you going to the Halloween dance?”

“Uh--maybe. I’ve been thinking about it.” Dipper shrugs, rubbing his elbow nervously, glancing away. “Probably not, though. Dances aren’t really my thing.”

“Oh, really? You should definitely go!” She grins, punching his shoulder, and Bill lets out a low whistle that Dipper twitches his eyebrow at. “It’ll be fun, come on. Hey, you know what? People on the student council get into the dance free. I could totally sign you up as a temporary committee member. It’s so much fun, I promise. What do you say? As payment for your shirt?”

“ _Well, she’s asking you to a dance which is the most action you’re ever going to get for the rest of your life, but you totally just got friendzoned_ ,” Bill scoffs, eliciting a light huff from Dipper. “ _Not like you have the guts to say yes, anyway_.”

Dipper musters up the sincerest grin he can manage, just to spite Bill, and nods enthusiastically. “Sure, why not? What do I have to do?”

“Really? Great! Hold on, I’ll put my number into your phone. I’ll let you know when we can meet up tomorrow.”

Dipper unlocks his phone and hands it to Margo, who taps at the screen quickly and hands it back to him as soon as she’s done, winking playfully as she stands. “I’ll see you around, Dipper!”

Dipper glances at his phone screen with little interest, waiting until there’s no one around to catch him talking to himself before he speaks; “I really don’t want to have to ask you for advice, but does she seem different from the first time we met?”

Bill grunts. “ _Different?” All these meatsacks are the same to me, kid. What do you mean?_ ”

“Like, I don’t know.” Dipper waves his hand. “Less charismatic, or whatever.”

“ _Well, I wasn’t paying attention to what was going on outside of your head before you called me yesterday, so I don’t know and couldn’t care less. Next question!_ ”

“Ugh. I don’t know why I bother with you.” He blinks. “I don’t know why I actually agreed to that student council thing, either.”

“ _Pine Tree! You wound me!_ ”

Coming along to a slow realisation, Dipper scowls. “You... manipulative bastard.”

“ _That’s what I do best, kid! It’s called reverse psychology. Works every time!_ ”

“I hate you.”

Bill laughs. “ _Don’t worry, the feeling’s mutual_.”

⨻

Dipper’s twirling a pencil in his fingers, slouched over an open binder while a documentary plays in the dark classroom at the front of the class, when his phone blinks awake and gives a short buzz at the end of his desk.

Dipper straightens up, glancing around at tired students and a teacher who seems to be playing a game on his phone by his desk, and picks the phone up.

 **Margo** : hey

 **Margo** : U busy during lunch today?

There’s close to two minutes before the start of lunch and the teacher doesn’t seem to be registering anything outside of his phone and the insipid documentary, so Dipper slides his own phone closer to him apprehensively and taps out a quick response.

 **Dipper** : No. Something going on?

 **Margo** : come to the caf, I’ll meet you there! Meeting. Gonna get you on the council!!

Dipper sucks on his bottom lip nervously, tempted to call for Bill as a second judgement--but they still haven’t figured out a way for a two-way communication that doesn’t need Dipper to speak out loud, and since when has Bill actually helped him, anyway?

Dipper clenches his jaw and types a response out before sending it resolutely.

 **Dipper** : sure. Looking forward to it :)

Bill and Dipper aren’t friends. They aren’t partners. They’re enemies in a situation in which both of them know they can’t act upon it without their own detriment, and they’re both at a reluctant understanding.

They would solve the problem at hand, and Dipper decides staunchly that it would be the last time Bill ever interfered with his reality--at any cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy this was a super shitty+short chapter and i'm sorry about that man!! i've been _literally_ drowning in schoolwork this week and i'd like to say it'll ease up after this, i'm really not sure enough about that to do so! i promise I won't stop writing this story until I reach the end, though, so stay with me my dudes :'0 
> 
> i'd also like to say that the basis of this story is heavily influenced by parasyte, an anime (that's suPER DUPER GOOD IF YOU HAVEN'T WATCHED IT!!) so you'll definitely see some similarities in here! though, i'd also like you to know that it won't be exactly like it (for obvious reasons, of course, but also for less-obvious ones that'll be clearer the more i develop the setting of this story).
> 
> thanks for reading and sticking around!! see u next chapter my friend ;;0


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